Lieutenant Santos guided the transport into a few experimental dips and whirls. His scowl shifted into a look of excited concentration.
Aris settled back into her seat. This was going to be fun.
Chapter 11
This time, when Galena visited the prison, no sirens wailed and no guards shuttled her into hiding. Inside Elom’s cell, she stood for a long time with her back to the secure door, two guards on either side of her. Her hands turned a thin cylindrical cannister end over end.
Elom’s voice slid like oil into the silent room. “You won’t use that.”
He sat on the edge of his bed, facing her, hands clasped casually in his lap. He was larger and more muscular than Pyralis and a good ten years younger, but his face showed the wear of a violent life. Crooked nose, hard eyes, deep ridges framing his mouth. Even now, his smugness belied the tension in his frame. He was spoiling for a fight. “Though you wish you had the strength to, don’t you? You want to hurt me. Your revenge.”
Galena stiffened. The weapon in her hand—similar to the one Elom had used to destroy her face—paused in its rotation. “Do not presume to know anything about me or what I plan to do.”
Elom stood, slowly enough that the guards did not restrain him. His bald head gleamed beneath the unforgivingly bright lights. “I know everything about you. I unmade you.”
“Does Ward Balias know how much you enjoyed torturing me?” Galena asked, even as a sickness spread through her at his words. “Is that why he trusts you? Because you’ll do whatever evil he asks of you without a second thought?”
A tiny muscle jumped at the edge of Elom’s eye. But he smiled. “Ward Balias trusts me to use my judgment. Your imprisonment was my idea.”
Galena hid her thoughts behind her scars, let nothing else show. This was why she came. Elom thought he’d unmade her, and maybe he had, but she’d spent months in a small room with him. She knew more about him than he realized.
He had an ego. He wasn’t a blind follower; he fancied himself part of the vision. In his mind, he was more than Ward Balias’s instrument. He was his own weapon.
And she could use that.
With a little flick of her finger, the cylinder in her hand spouted a tongue of blue flame. “It might have been a good idea, capturing me . . . if you’d succeeded in killing me. What did Balias say when I escaped? Did he pat you on the head with a ‘better luck next time’?”
Another twitch at the corner of his eye.
She held up the flame between them, keeping her gaze on him. “I don’t think so. I don’t think Balias rewarded you for your failure. I think he demoted you. Refused to tell you any more of his secrets. Sent you chasing after a little girl in a wingjet instead of helping him with his next plan.”
Elom’s face turned to stone.
“And you couldn’t even do that one small thing.” Her voice whispered along the walls, inescapable. “You tortured me, you captured Aris, and yet here we are. Aris and I are free. Alive. And you are trapped in this cell, your own life stolen, your own lips the ones that will finally bring Balias down.”
Elom lunged.
The guards reached him just as the shackle on his ankle clanked, jerking him back. He struggled against their restraining hands, his face inches from Galena’s, only the small lick of blue fire separating them.
“Your man will never get close to Balias,” Elom growled, his eyes bulging. “Unless he can sneak his way into the ward’s palace. Balias hasn’t granted an audience with me in months.” Some of his anger relaxed, and he stopped fighting the guards. His lips curved mockingly. “All that hard work to replace me, and my failure will be yours as well.”
The palace. The real Balias was at the palace.
Galena didn’t react, just held herself together, every breath keeping her heart from beating out of her chest.
“Balias went to great trouble to break you out of here,” she said calmly. “Why is that, do you think, if you’re of so little importance to him now?”
Elom tapped a finger to his temple, as his arrogant mask slipped back into place. “I may not carry all of his secrets, but I carry enough.”
Galena stepped back and extinguished the flame. The guards released him. She glanced toward the blank silver wall at her right, knowing the interrogators were watching. Behind her, the door slid open. Just before she turned to leave, she gave Elom a little nod. “I appreciate your cooperation. This has been very . . . enlightening.”
She didn’t wait for his reaction or listen for the rattle of his chains as she left. When the door had closed behind the guards, she turned to them. “I need you to get Ward Nekos and Lieutenant Latza on comms. Right away.”
Finally, Elom had given her something they could use.
Chapter 12
Dysis was back at Spiro. The graceful, rounded buildings shimmered in the first golden rays of dawn. The morning was serene, except for a quiet, persistent beeping.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was incessant. Inescapable. And somehow, she knew exactly what it was.
A bomb.
She started to run. The air held her back, thick as mud. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed instantly. The beeping grew louder. She pushed against her invisible restraints, yelled silently into the empty day. She had to warn them, she had to stop—
An explosion rocked the compound, shooting fire and ash into the sky. Dysis collapsed onto the rough tarmac, heard the whine of approaching Safaran wingjets. Wept as they bombed the stationpoint again and again.
The scene tilted and reformed. Before her, where Spiro once stood, was a crater, burnt bodies filling it, spilling out. Dysis crawled forward, tears stinging her cheeks. She should have been able to help them. She should have—
Hands gripped her shoulders, yanking her out of the dream.
“Dysis, Dysis, hey.” The voice shook her awake, just as the hands did.
She opened her eyes to find Calix above her, his face drawn with concern.
It took her all of a second to push him away. “What the hell? Back off, man.”
Calix retreated, but only to the end of her bed. He sat down, his weight pulling the sheets tight against her calves. “I’m sorry. You were screaming.” He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, looking unnerved.
“I’m fine. You can leave now.” She shifted, trying to get comfortable. Her side still ached.
Calix studied her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She shrugged and tried to hold his stare, hoping she radiated calm indifference. At least this nightmare hadn’t featured Daakon, his dead eyes staring into her soul, his rotted mouth asking why she’d let him die.
The last four weeks had been an agony, partially because she wanted to fight, but also because she’d had nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Her memories. The grief that threatened to pull her down to a darkness from which she’d never escape.
Calix looked like he wanted to say something. But he stood, suddenly, and offered her a polite smile. “I’ve got some good news for you. You’ve been authorized to move to a regular room. No more sick bay.”
Dysis’s eyes widened. She sat up too quickly, and winced.
“Hold on a second.” Calix automatically reached out to help her. “You’re not active yet, by any means.” He leaned in so she was forced to meet his eyes. “No combat, no activity beyond a brisk walk. And you need to come by for a checkup every day.”
“You really know how to deliver good news,” she grumbled. Just the thought of escape made this room feel smaller. The beep of the heart monitor haunted her dreams, and that stupid scrolling image display gave her a headache.
As for Calix . . .
She didn’t need him touching her, listening to her heart. Holding her wrists in his big, callused hands to take her pulse. She needed him to stay away from her. She yanked on the sheets, try
ing to free her legs. The sooner she could get out of here, the better.
“Ready to get going, I see,” Calix said. He helped pull back the sheet. It was odd—Dysis almost thought she heard regret in his voice.
“Aren’t you ready to be rid of me?” When Dysis’s bare toes touched the floor, she drew them back from the cold for an instant, before setting them more firmly on the ground. “Let’s not pretend either of us enjoyed this arrangement.”
He shrugged. “I preferred it to you being dead.”
“Me too,” she admitted, almost under her breath. “You were right. . . . I’m . . . I’m glad you didn’t let me die.”
Calix raised a brow, a little dimple forming in his cheek. “What was that?”
“You heard me.” She punched his shoulder as she stood up. “Don’t push it. Who knows how I’ll feel tomorrow.” She added, “And don’t expect me to be back every day. I’ve had my share of checkups, thanks.”
Instead of protesting as she expected, a sly smile crept over his face. “I’ll just have to hunt you down then.”
For a second, they stared at each other, and Dysis wanted to grin and say, “Happy hunting.”
But that would be stupid. She didn’t—
“Dysis?” Calix had a strange look on his face, almost too focused, his leaf-green eyes pinned to her lips. He wasn’t that much taller than she was, but his broad shoulders suddenly filled the room. They were standing too close, she realized, so close her arm inadvertently brushed his, setting off tiny sparks under her skin.
“I . . .” Dysis started.
Calix cleared his throat just as Dysis shrugged away from the bed, away from him.
“So, ah, I can just leave? Is that it?” Dysis fiddled with the edge of her sleep shirt.
Calix cleared his throat again, suddenly engrossed in some data scrolling across the monitor in the corner. “That’s it. Aris told me you’ll be rooming with her and Specialist Pallas. I can show you the way.”
“That’s okay. I’ll find it.” She didn’t need any more help from him. She needed space.
“You’ll probably want to go to the cafeteria and grab some breakfast, too. No meals delivered bedside anymore.” Calix glanced up and met her eyes for just a second. “You’re not an invalid, Dysis, even if you can’t train yet. Don’t forget that.”
“Um, okay,” she murmured. It felt so strange to stand in the doorway of that room, where she’d spent the last few weeks, knowing she was leaving it for good. She looked around, but there was nothing to take with her. She hadn’t let Aris bring any of her personal belongings, not even her digitablet. She hadn’t wanted it to feel permanent.
Yet now, an odd pang shot through her.
“Bye, Calix,” she said, as she turned and walked out. If he said anything else, she didn’t hear it.
It took Dysis a few wrong turns and a friendly mender’s assistant to find the sleeping quarters. Her new room was larger than the one she’d shared with Aris and Pallas in Spiro, with the bonus of a small window on the far wall. Three cots were positioned beneath it, two with rumpled sheets, the other pristine. That must be hers. The edge of her duffle peeked out from underneath.
Dysis sank to the edge of the bed. It was nice not having Calix hovering. But here, by herself, she had the same problem she’d had while trapped in that awful med-bed.
Too much goddamn time to think.
“Someone give me something to do. Please.” She bent, head in hands, and tried to scrub out the darkness of her memories. She’d rather be doing something—anything—than waiting around for the world to end.
“As you wish.”
Dysis threw her head up so fast her neck cracked.
A tall woman stood in the doorway, her snake tattoo staring impassively into the room.
“Dianthe?” Dysis stood up. She wasn’t quite as tall, but she had more muscle. Dianthe was so thin she looked as if you could snap her just by shaking her hand, but Dysis had heard the stories of her training sessions. The woman was unbreakable.
“I heard you were being released from the sick bay today,” Dianthe said. “I have a job for you. Come on.” She turned and disappeared without waiting for a response.
“Wait!” Dysis yelled. She needed her uniform—breakfast—
But Dianthe didn’t return to the doorway.
Dysis hurried after her, self-consciously smoothing her rumpled sleep pants. Dianthe gave her no quarter for her injury, taking long strides down the hall. It was easy to get turned around; the hallways were all the same blank white, with the same glaringly bright lights above. Small signs hung at each juncture with lists of locations—cafeteria, sick bay, dorms, exit—and arrows pointing the way.
“Where are we going?” Dysis asked, embarrassed at how breathless she was.
Dianthe didn’t answer. She wove through a group of soldiers returning from morning formation without giving them time to move out of her way.
Dysis looked for Aris or Pallas, someone she knew, but didn’t see anyone familiar. Aris’s “special unit” must still be out training. Dysis hated not knowing for sure. She should be out there, with her friends. It didn’t make any sense, she knew, but somehow she couldn’t help feeling that if she were with them, she could keep them safe.
At last Dianthe slowed in a hallway labeled security. She swiped a passcard across the panel next to a door, then tapped in a four-digit number. The door slid open to reveal a small room with a bank of monitors. All of them were black except for one. A single soldier wearing earbuds hunched over the lit workstation. Dianthe touched the man’s shoulder. He jumped, looked up at her, and removed a bud.
“He just received a coded comm from his Atalantan contact,” he said. “He’s leaving for the meeting place now.” The soldier shot a look at Dysis. He was a few years older than she was, with the pale, slightly squint-eyed look of a comms agent. “Who’s this?”
“Your replacement, Lieutenant.” Dianthe waved a hand between them. “Lieutenant Raven, Specialist Latza. You’re now on eight-hour shifts with the radio. Raven, you’ve got overnights, Latza you’re on days. I’ll take the evening shift. This radio must be manned at all times. You will not miss a shift, and you will tell no one what you’re listening to. As far as the rest of the point is concerned, you’re doing boring comms work, like the rest of our techies.” She turned to Dysis. “Raven is my man, unaffiliated with Spiro or Mekia. He is the only one, aside from me and Commander Nyx, who you should trust with your reports. Do you understand?”
Dysis was still trying to catch up, but that seemed clear enough. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Raven, go get some food and some sleep. See you tonight.”
Dismissed, Lieutenant Raven nodded at the women and slipped out of the room, yawning.
When they were alone, Dianthe tapped the screen, switching the sound from the earbuds to external speakers. The thud of footsteps and swish of traffic underscored a jumble of city noise.
She glanced back at Dysis. “This feed is coming directly from the voice modulator of a veiled Atalantan agent within Safara. It’ll pick up his own voice, as well as ambient sound. He’s putting himself at great personal risk to provide us with essential intel. As soon as you hear anything of importance, particularly regarding a new weapon, or the words ‘flaming scorpion,’ you are to contact me or Commander Nyx at once, using this.” She showed Dysis the separate tech to send out a building-wide message. “If we don’t reply, send a similar message to Lieutenant Raven. Do not leave the room. This feed must be monitored at all times.”
The obvious questions rose to Dysis’s lips. “But what about food? And, you know . . .”
Dianthe pointed to a small door in the back corner. “Washroom.” And then to a small foodsaver built into the other wall. “That’s restocked every two days by me or Lieutenant Raven. No one else is authorized access to this room. I don’t
care if you know them, or if they say they’re here for an important purpose. No one is allowed access.”
Dysis nodded. “It’s a secret. Protect it with my life. Got it,” she said, as she eased into the chair. Sound waves scrolled across the monitor in a dizzying, hypnotic line. The tinkle of a bell sent up spikes, and then the city noise faded and the line calmed. She thought maybe the man had walked inside a building.
“I have two minutes,” a deep voice whispered.
“Any sign of the weapon?”
Dysis choked on a gasp. Her eyes flew to Dianthe’s face. “That second voice—that’s my brother’s. Is he your operative in Safara?”
Dianthe shot her a glare. “Shh.”
The first voice rumbled, “I’ve been traveling to the different locations of the Balias doubles, as Elom had done before his capture. So far I haven’t run into the true Balias, as far as I can tell, and no one has spoken about the flaming scorpion.”
Elom? What was going on?
“Anyone seem suspicious or ask too many questions?” Jax asked.
Dysis sucked in a slow, steadying breath. If Jax was asking the questions, he was probably the asset’s handler, not the asset himself.
“There appears to be ill will toward Elom, but no one has dared doubt me. His reputation is firmly entrenched.” A louder sound echoed through the room, as if the man had swallowed. “I was asked to exact punishment on a man accused of treason. It was . . . unpleasant. I need to find the real Balias and get this done with. Before, well, before more evil is asked of us all.”
In the short pause that followed, Dysis turned to Dianthe. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
Dianthe allowed a small smile. “Your brother noticed Lieutenant Haan’s Safaran friend, Alistar, looked quite similar to Elom. Ward Nekos used Ward Balias’s rumored desire to liberate Elom as an opportunity.”
Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) Page 6